


Gore-met

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Sensationalism [4]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Blood, F/M, Food, Het, POV First Person, Senses, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harmony's got a craving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gore-met

Sometimes I think that there should be strawberry-flavored blood. And chocolate, and raspberry creme, and also, why after hundreds and hundreds of years of there being vampires, has no vamp ever thought up triple-fudge brownie delight flavoring for blood? I tell you, flavor pig’s blood or otter blood so it tastes like gooey, rich dark chocolate flowing over the tongue, and human blood would be so out it’d be parachute pants. Profitable AND good for humanity: everyone wins!

Not that blood really tastes all that bad. Cow blood and pig blood, sure, they kind of have an aftertaste, but it’s not bad. Human blood is the best blood, of course. They say it’s like wine, but that’s not true at all, because wine’s got a weird tang to it after all the iron and metallic flavors in blood and from what I can tell, blood and wine kinda sorta clash. I tried to ask Angel if he thought so, but he was super horrified, and told me to Get Out in his big boss voice. Then I tried to ask Spike, but he was all, bloody hell, who cares? Let’s shag.

Then we had sex on the copy machine, which wasn’t bad or anything, but it didn’t answer my question. Vampires live forever, and they have to have the same thing every day to eat, and what about diet fatigue? I mean, blood, blood, blood. It gets old, which it totally wouldn’t with flavoring, and then there wouldn’t be the disgusting gas I get when I eat normal food.

So I decided that Angel and Spike just weren’t thinking outside the box, but why would they? They had apparently gotten used to the monotony, and besides, despite the souled vampire champion gig, they were really old-school vamps, all dark colors and sour faces and creature of the night blah-blah-blah. If Cordy wasn’t in a total soap opera coma, I’d ask her, because she’d be totally with me, because one time she put cinnamon in Angel’s blood, which shows she’s totally thinking about the problem.

Unfortunately, Cordy’s not an option, so I decide to go chat up Lorne, cuz he knows how to make a girl develop an idea. Like, three days ago, he was talking to Aaron Sorkin about his next project, and I heard a tiny bit, and it was like, as good as the West Wing, but without all the snor-y, boring politics, and I was all about watching it. Aaron wasn’t convinced, but anyway. Gotta focus or it’s chicken blood next week, which, world of ewwwww. I don’t like Cajun, you know?

“Harm-a-palooza!” Lorne says. I heart him so much, because he’s just so much fun and doesn’t act like something crawled up his butt and died, like everyone else in charge here. “What’s on the old noggin, girl?”

I tell him the plan, and he’s sketched at first, because I guess flavored blood takes getting used to if you don’t drink blood every day, but then he’s nodding along like I’ve pitched him the latest Britney song, and then he’s grinning and I know I have a winner of an idea.

“Girl, you and your wacky schemes,” Lorne tells me. “You think vamps really miss tasting things?”

“You have no idea,” I say, totally into it. “Sure, we drink booze and all, and that’s cool, but do you know how irritable eating regularly makes my tummy? Everyone tries to eat, because hey, it’s smart and it tricks the normals, but then you get sick to your stomach and that’s just messy. But I know this guy out in WeHo who would give, like, a million dollars to be able to have a delicious banana-flavored blood smoothie.”

Just thinking about flavors makes me hungry. It’s been so long since I had food. Normal people food, which is the weird thing about being dead. Food’s just not the same — well, if you’re a vamp. If you’re a zombie or one of the other kinds of dead-like, maybe it’s different, but once I tried to have my favorite spaghetti in meat sauce and cheesy garlic bread, you know, the kind where butter’s melted into the bread and parmesan and the garlic’s on top? And I totally had an allergic reaction.

Maybe that was because of the garlic, but I swear to God, I heard that was a myth. So maybe not garlic-tasting blood, but what about blood sauce that went over pizza? There would be so much demand for that, because lots of vamps are alcoholics because they can drink so much more because of the dead thing…and grease soaks up alcohol and all.

I miss it. I remember after the time Cordelia totally reamed me out for insulting Xander Harris when she was dating him, and how I went to IHOP and ordered chocolate chip pancakes. Each bite, with the fluffy pancake, the creamy butter, the warm sweetness of a chocolate chip, and whipped cream, made me feel a little better, until I was all done and I knew that it wasn’t my fault I was a sheep. It was totally society, pressuring me into a shape that I could handle. Now when I screw up, I don’t know what to do. I can’t bite someone, I can’t gorge on pancakes, so usually I cry and drink cosmos while watching Sex and the City DVDs and that’s not really good enough.

If I could have a blood smoothie with vanilla ice cream and blood sauce that tasted like my dad’s cook Roberto’s special chocolate raspberry truffle sauce that was so thick and sweet that you only needed a tiny bit and it was like having an orgasm in your mouth? I would feel better about bad days.

“So you should talk to Knox. He and the Fredlet can make this dream a very profitable reality for you, Harm,” Lorne is saying, and I’m paying attention. “You could be a mogul.”

“That’d be neat,” I agree, but what I’m really thinking is that if I had a million dollars, I’d spend it on being able to eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich without feeling sick or wanting to drink a glass of O negative afterwards. Wonder bread, creamy Jif, and bananas sliced into little round slices, a big glass of milk.

That would be super neat. It’s not gonna happen…but hey, a million dollars will be okay, too. I guess. And strawberry blood solves a lot of problems when it comes with all the Fendi bags I can buy.

I want a sandwich. Damn it.

 


End file.
